


Last Drops

by shell_and_bone



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Autofellatio, Body Worship, Canon-Typical Racism, Choking, Come Sharing, Dirty Talk, Fetishism, Finger Sucking, Hate Sex, M/M, Messy, Mild Blood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Morbid, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Season/Series 02, Spanking, Table Sex, Tentacle Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:25:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6932272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shell_and_bone/pseuds/shell_and_bone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2259 is off to a rough start for G’Kar. Between the unexplained destruction of a Narn colony, the sudden departure of Commander Sinclair, and escalating tensions with the League, G’Kar’s patience wears dangerously thin. The breaking point comes when Londo approaches him after a disastrous council meeting to pour salt in the wounds, and G’Kar decides to teach him a lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Drops

**Author's Note:**

> This fic involves about a half dozen messed up things that I would never approve of in reality, but I do perceive these undertones in Londo and G’Kar’s relationship and thought they might be worth exploring. Regarding the warnings, I myself would categorize this fic as consensual hatesex. But I included the dubcon tag because it’s all pretty spontaneous and the narration is not from an omniscient POV, so there are a number of ways one might interpret Londo’s behaviour. As the author, for whatever that’s worth, I endorse the reading that he had a wonderful time and they’re planning a date for next week. But the point remains that they’re kinking on some questionable power dynamics, and I would sincerely advise anyone who’s grossed out by this sort of thing to steer clear.

“We, the League of Non-Aligned Worlds, have agreed that the Narn Regime’s latest attempts at settlement on Roth III stand in violation of the Roth Accords, and shall be curtailed immediately.”

G’Kar held his tongue and tightened his fists under the table as Ambassador Qwal’Mizra, spokesperson for the League, delivered the council meeting’s last order of business. Her countenance was unassuming, her voice even, words carefully chosen, but the weight of condemnation issued from her gaze and in the haughty, satisfied faces of the rows of representatives clustered above her. 

Captain Sheridan punctuated the declaration with a tap of his gavel. “And what response does the League propose?” G’Kar grit his teeth and resolved to wait until he was permitted to speak.

Ambassador Vizak stood up from his seat. “Effective today, all incoming traffic from the Narn Regime will be stopped and boarded at our gate at Zagros 7. All ships containing colonists, life-support equipment, or agricultural technologies will be turned away,” he said, then gestured to the pair of Hyach representatives at his side. “So to preserve the agreement that neither the Hyach nor Narn populations currently making use of the planet shall establish a permanent colony over 20,000 until ownership is settled.” 

Finally, Sheridan turned to G’Kar. “How does the Narn government respond to—“

“Permanent colonization? Is that what you have decided we are doing?” G’Kar addressed himself not to Qwal’Mizra or Vizak, but to the Hyach representatives currently whispering to each other. “And yet you did not think to broach these concerns with the Kha’Ri before going to the League to frame our _temporary relocation_ efforts as an attempt at permanent colonization?”

The Hyach didn’t respond, but their whispering grew louder and more frantic. Qual’Mizra broke in, “Ambassador G’Kar, the Hyach’s claims are not spurious. We have received a number of reports regarding the situation on Roth III and all accounts agree that ships containing between 3000 and 4000 Narn colonists have entered the Roth system over the past three months, along with additional life-support equipment, and implements for mass agricultural expansion. The League is satisfied that—” 

“What you are calling colonists, I shall remind you, are refugees!” G’Kar stood up and circled to the other side of the table, placing himself directly before the other members of the security council. “Displaced after the loss of our base at Quadrant 37, the Narn government has temporarily resettled the survivors on Roth III until we can arrange a more permanent solution.” 

Sheridan narrowed his eyes and frowned slightly in what could have been impatience as easily as disapproval. Sinclair would have offered his support, G’Kar assured himself. But Sheridan had arrived only a few weeks ago and G’Kar did not know this new captain well enough to predict where his sympathies would fall. Delenn sat quietly, unmoved by his display. Of the three, only Londo visibly reacted. He leaned forward in his seat, eyes sparkling as though G’Kar’s desperation were a spectacular piece of theatre. 

“Colonists, refugees... we fail to see the difference,” spoke one of the Hyach ambassadors. “Many invasions have been perpetrated by those with nowhere else to go, but are invasions nonetheless. You say your government is arranging a more permanent solution. We are merely offering... strong encouragement.”

Qual’Mizra shook her head in disbelief. “And what of the technology aboard your ships? Do you expect us to believe that these ‘refugees’, barely escaping with their lives, managed to preserve all of the technology necessary to establish a self-sustaining colony?” 

G’Kar slammed his hand against the council table. Neither Sheridan nor Delenn flinched. Londo nearly choked on the water he’d been drinking. “None of you are listening! These are people who have lost their homes, their families, their entire lives! They’ve spent months aboard relief ships as the Kha’Ri attempts to return those lucky few with family on other worlds _to_ those other worlds, while the rest—“

“How long?” 

G’Kar searched the room and met the eyes of the Hyach ambassador. 

“Well? How long? You claim that your government has no intention of allowing these displaced refugees permanent settlement and that this arrangement is only temporary. In return, we ask you, how long will this continue?”

The room fell silent. G’Kar could feel the weight of a dozen pointed glares and unvoiced accusations. Pressure mounted from all sides, the silence unravelling the thread of his thoughts. 

“I...” he started, hesitating. ‘Temporary’, was the only word he’d received from his government on the matter. Beyond that, his argument stretched no further. He was left with no choice. “I only know that it will be temporary. If you have need of further assurance, I shall—“

Vizak barked a laugh. “Temporary settlement, he says. Did the Narn say the same thing to the Sorians, the T’Lori, the Latach? I’m sure they’d like to know when you’ll be leaving!”

“Those worlds were not League worlds, and even so, we are liberating them! Like us, those races have lived under Centauri rule for so long that they need our help!” G’Kar shot back, carried away by the nerve of the Drazi to compare the situation on Roth III to any of the Regime’s former-Centauri colonies. 

The room erupted. Vizak stood up to respond, but was quickly drowned out by the clamour. Voices shouted from every direction, so loud that neither G’Kar, the Hyach, nor the spokesperson could get a word in edgewise. “This is irrelevant...” G’Kar heard Delenn mutter behind him, which was met with a groan of agreement from Sheridan. At the end of the council table, Londo was laughing. 

“Until your government can provide a more satisfying answer—“

“How long, Ambassador?”

“Temporary settlement, my left glorn. The Narn will never uphold their promise!“

“No different from the Centauri...”

G’Kar stood speechless at the centre of the council chamber as the torrent of outrage reached its peak. He’d lost track of who was speaking, what transgressions remained be answered for, what solutions he could propose. There reached a point in these negotiations when the opposition simply could no longer be reasoned with, and he could sense its hastening approach. He pressed a hand to his temple to shield himself from the noise. Sheridan’s gavel crashed against the table — he called for order, but nobody was listening. 

“Enough!” G’Kar cried over the commotion. It did not quiet them completely, but it did earn their attention, the shouts fading to murmured conversations. G’Kar could not win this battle today, but he could end it.

“You ask how long?” G’Kar took a deep breath and approached the Hyach ambassadors. “I cannot tell you how long it will take to arrange alternate settlement for our refugees, but what I can promise you is that the settlement on Roth III is not permanent,” he said, backing up to address the entire council. ”After all, what is truly permanent in this universe? The stars? No, they will flare and die someday. Life? No. All living things arise and perish. Existence itself? Not even that, for the simplest particles will eventually decay! So I can promise you that no matter what my government has in mind for Roth III, our colony is _not_ permanent, for nothing truly can be!”

The room went utterly silent as his last words fell. The representatives exchanged glances with their neighbours, confusion dawning in their features. The Hyach ambassador sat with her head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed, as if she could barely process what she had just heard. 

“Ambassador G’Kar, I... don’t think—“

“And that,” Sheridan declared, “will be enough for today. We can pick up where we left off tomorrow.” The tension dissipated with many sighs of relief as the representatives began to vacate the chambers. G’Kar retreated to his seat and covered his face. A hand landed on his shoulder. “That could have gone better. But I guess you can’t win ‘em all,” Sheridan said. The emptiest of platitudes.

Delenn was not so generous. “One day, perhaps, your government will learn the wisdom of meaningful compromise over trivial victory,” she whispered as she passed. “But for now, I can see that your universe consists only of enemies to be vanquished.” 

G’Kar wanted to sit down and talk with her, show her she was wrong. It was too late. He listened until her footsteps receded into the hallway and the doors shut behind her. Then he released the breath he’d been holding and felt tears prick behind his eyes.

A slow clap echoed through the empty chamber. To his left, Londo pursed his lips at G’Kar in mocking sympathy. 

“‘ _Like the stars that flare, our colony can only be but temporary_.’ Was that how you put it?” Londo asked, leaning back in his chair, legs raised with his feet crossed over the table. “You will have to write that one down for me to use the next time the League complains about our presence at the Drazi border.” He chuckled and happily folded his hands under his chin. “Truly inspired.”

G’Kar’s throat tightened in renewed frustration. “Why are you still here, Mollari? Haven’t you had enough entertainment for one day?”

Londo picked up his glass and swirled it around out of habit, as if it contained anything more potent than water. “You doubt my sincerity, G’Kar? To the contrary, it is always a pleasure to watch the mighty Narn Regime antagonize other governments and dominate negotiations. When you have not chosen the Republic as your target, anyway.”

“Save your gloating for your snivelling aide or an empty bottle. I will hear none of this,” said G’Kar, noticing Londo’s haphazard posture. A little push at the back of his chair and G’Kar could send him crashing to the floor. The glass would fly out of his hand, the water soaking his embroidered silk waistcoat. The image eased his headache that threatened to return at any moment. 

“I would not dream of such a thing,” scoffed Londo. “Really, G’Kar, who am I to criticize when we ourselves have set such a poor example. Sacrificing territory and resources to the League, to the Earthers, to you, of all people. With the way things are going in the Republic these days, why, you Narn are setting yourselves up as the conquerors of future generations— ah, excuse me, butchers? You prefer that sort of language, yes?”

G’Kar tensed with every word and a part of him wanted nothing more than to forcibly remove the smug, self-satisfied grin from Londo’s face. Perhaps the loss of a few teeth would be sufficient. “We are _not_ conquerors! We are nothing like you.”

Londo gave a shrug. “A pity. Your own savage instincts honed with Centauri tenacity. It could make for a powerful combination if only you gave up your cherished claim to victimhood, a claim that grows weaker with every passing year, with each new world dominated, with every new race enslaved.”

 _Enslaved_. The word burned something deep at the back of G’Kar’s mind, prodded the suppurating wound that never quite closed. He rose to his full height, then leaned with one fist on the table. “The Narn have never enslaved another people in all of our history and you know it. We have agreements, treaties, even pacts of mutual defense with the worlds under our protection in case your people ever returned to reclaim them,” he said, edging close to Londo until he could smell his horrid cologne. “Did you know that we have restored more farmland on Sorith than we have on our own homeworld?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure,” Londo said, nodding along. “You people have become so very talented at farming with the remnants of our abandoned industrial equipment. And how much of that harvest do the Sorians benefit from, hm? What percentage is shipped back to your homeworld? Seventy-five... eighty percent, perhaps?”

G’Kar faltered, caught off guard by Londo’s uncannily accurate guesswork. If it was an approximation at all. 

“But what do I know? It may well be your famous tendency to revisionism, much like your incessant demands for lost territory from my government. What ‘lost’ territory could there be, we’ve always wondered? Everyone knows that your people had not yet blundered your way to the combustion engine before our arrival, and the less said of your medicine the better. Our records clearly—“

“You records are lies!” G’Kar cut him off, studying his face in hopes of discerning just how much of this slander the man actually believed, and how much was empty provocation. He tilted Londo’s chin up when he tried to look away before G’Kar had gotten his answer. Bold, undaunted, and keenly interested in what G’Kar would do next. As if he had no notion of the harm G’Kar was capable of inflicting, or thought him too bloodless to make the attempt. “We could refute them with our own, had you not destroyed our archives, burned our histories, starved our elders...” This time, it was G’Kar who turned away. A complete list of Centauri crimes against sentience would be endless, and G’Kar would break before Londo would blink. 

G’Kar took a step back at the first moment of respite. It was a mistake to become embroiled in these pointless, circular arguments where nothing he could say would make a difference. Behind the rise of hair and glimmering medallions across his breast, it was easy to forget that Londo was not his history. Born too late by a century, he’d lament over drinks to anyone who would listen. ‘Conquest’ and ‘genocide’ were the same empty concept for him — or so G’Kar tried to convince himself as he wrenched himself away and prepared to walk back to his quarters.

As he turned to face the door, he heard a cluck of laughter at his heels. G’Kar turned on instinct, just in time to see Londo raise his head and stare directly at G’Kar with irreverent scorn. He stroked the red jewel at his throat in a way that beckoned attention. His small, delicately formed lips parted to display the points of his canines, and through them he mouthed, “Barbarian.”

With that, G’Kar’s patience came to an end. He seized Londo by the back of his collar and slammed him head first against the table. Londo coughed as the air escaped his lungs. He tried to jerk away. G’Kar pressed down to keep him from struggling, hard enough to crush his cheek against the hardwood. “Say that again, Mollari, and I will have to show you what that word means.”

Londo twisted to one side, still reeling. He’d bit his lip on impact. He narrowed his eyes and his mouth curled in a sneer. “Barbarian,” he hissed again through bloodstained teeth. 

G’Kar pushed the chair away and leaned over Londo’s back. Calmer now that he was on the offensive, G’Kar whispered in his ear, “If we are, it is only because you made us this way.” He braced a knee between Londo’s thighs. “There is a human saying. You reap what you sow? Such a proud and ancient civilization, and to think you have yet to learn such a basic piece of wisdom.”

“We brought out no savagery that was not there already,” said Londo. “Our only mistake was not realizing that sooner. That, and leaving so much of our technology behind so you could go out and inflict yourselves upon the rest of the galaxy.”

Prone, helpless, and bent over a table, Londo's words lost some of their sting. Enough for G'Kar to find some amusement in them. "What choice did you leave us when you ran like cowards the instant we refused to submit?" G'Kar asked, smoothing his fingers through the hair at the back of Londo's scalp. "There is no challenge in pursuing an enemy who capitulates after the first strike.” He tightened his grip. “Disappointing, really. Especially for those in our government who pushed for immediate retaliation.”

“Of all the ignorant...“ Londo grumbled. “We did not flee—“

“Listen. You’ll like this part.” G’Kar reached around, making as if to muffle him. He slowed at the last second, and instead, dragged two fingers gently against his bottom lip. That quieted him just as effectively. “Strategic withdrawal or forced retreat, it made no difference for the stragglers you left behind. They tried to flee when we came for them, no question. We had them skinned head to toe, used their blood as pigment to paint our new fleet of warships.”

He felt Londo’s mouth twitch with disgust. G’Kar smiled and held him closer. “What’s wrong, Mollari? You were practically raised on tales of Narn brutality. Don’t tell me this shocks you?”

“Hardly. It’s only...” Londo said. His breath came in short huffs of laughter. “I didn’t know you felt that way, G’Kar.” He lifted his hips to meet the erection that had built throughout their conversation. 

G’Kar drew back reflexively, at once ashamed for his body’s response and furious that Londo would take advantage of it. He thought, in that brief lapse, that Londo would use the opportunity to escape. To G’Kar’s surprise, he sunk back against G’Kar and spread his legs. “How unbecoming. But what else can be expected from a Narn? Slave to your primitive urges,” Londo continued in a thick, mocking tone. He lowered himself over the edge of the table, willingly, this time. “This is how it is done, yes? Covering your mates, mounting them so as to force your bodies together, rutting like crazed—” 

“Animals?” G’Kar answered, hating the way his blood pooled to his loins at the gesture. “I’d say you’ve been watching too much interspecies pornography, Mollari, but you make it sound so appealing.” Even more appealing was the way he moved in offering, the arch of his back, the drying blood against his pale skin. With hesitance, G’Kar aligned his hips with Londo’s to see how well they fit together. He hitched up the fabric of Londo’s jacket and let his cock rest against his inner thigh, daring him to back down with each calculated movement. He allowed himself the small indulgence of a sigh, then thrust against him with such force that the whole table lurched forward. 

Londo’s medallions clattered against the hardwood. He propped himself up on one elbow, and at once, G’Kar reached around to pin his wrists. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave right now? G’Kar rasped over his shoulder. “Or should I say... call for a strategic withdrawal?”

When Londo didn’t answer, G’Kar took him by the throat and tightened his grip until Londo deigned to at least look at him. He liked what he saw: hesitance, disgust, and a sick, livid excitement. “Ah... I...” Londo made out between strangled breaths. 

“What’s that?” G’Kar released him, loosening his scarf in the process, then reached for the clasp of his jacket. “Is there something you’d like?”

“Lower,” was Londo’s answer. Sure enough, G’Kar caught movement when he ventured further, brachiarti writhing beneath layers of fabric. It would be a simple enough task to undress him, or to loosen just one or two buttons for relief — if he had done anything to deserve it. A light squeeze across the ribcage was the only favour he got before G’Kar left him to squirm. 

Londo panted with frustration. “You ungrateful... hah, why should I be surprised? Your kind has always been—”

“Until the bitter end,” G’Kar replied at the same time he tugged Londo’s pants over his hips. He took his time appreciating him, all smooth flesh and shapely thighs. “On that note,” he added, giggling at the thought. “Did you know that we made drums from your skin? Stretched tight over a frame, it produces a most exquisite sound. I've always preferred the sounds you make when you're alive, however...” G’Kar delivered a sharp smack to Londo’s exposed backside. Londo recoiled with a cry that was all out of proportion to the force of the strike. Centauri were sensitive creatures, G’Kar reminded himself, receptive to the slightest pleasures or pains. They made for brutally efficient torturers, but they often fared poorly on the receiving end. 

“Just like that,” he mused, admiring the red welts blooming under his fingertips. He exerted pressure over the area, hoping to elicit a moan or a whimper. 

Londo winced, biting his swollen lip. “Fascinating. Tell me, have you thought up a use for our brachiarti yet? If not, I suggest you consume them raw for virility. I’m beginning to think you could use some, since you appear to be capable of nothing but talk.” 

“Is that an invitation?” G’Kar grinned over Londo’s shoulder to hold his attention while he reached under his own armour to pull out his cock. Still hard, he gave it a preparatory stroke before removing his gloves and gauntlets. He placed both next to Londo, whose bewildered expression was almost endearing. He presented two fingers before Londo’s mouth. “Suck,” he said, then held his breath. G’Kar could have easily done it himself, but it was a risk worth taking. 

A tense moment passed, but Londo did yield. His lips closed around G’Kar’s fingers and coated them all the way to the knuckle. Wet, suckling warmth lit up his nerves, edged with the threat of teeth. Londo made a small noise in his throat — not a gag, but a growl that seemed to vibrate against his bare skin. Whether Londo wanted G’Kar or just a pair of warm hands on his body, he couldn’t be sure, but he did want _this_. Slowly, G’Kar withdrew to apply some of the wetness between Londo’s legs and to the length of his erection. 

“What are you waiting for?” Londo piped up, a mix of pride, fear, and impatience. He shifted his weight from side to side. 

“If you would just—“ G’Kar planted both hands at Londo’s sides and drove himself forward. He meant to move slower, more carefully, but the first jolt of welcoming friction overcame him. “Hold still,” he delivered belatedly, just as Londo’s legs nearly dropped out from under him. Supporting him with an arm around the waist, G’Kar buried himself to the hilt as Londo widened his stance for balance. He hummed in low, growling approval. “That’s better.” He blew a stream of air past Londo’s ear. “You’re a natural. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

Londo shook his head emphatically, unable to speak with his jaw clenched tight. 

G’Kar believed him. Though the Centauri reputation for prurience and debauchery was not exactly misplaced, there were certain acts, G’Kar knew, about which they could be downright squeamish. This was one of them. He waited for a moment, massaging Londo’s shoulders, waiting for him to reconcile himself to the sensation. When he felt his body start to relax, he withdrew halfway and pushed in again. Londo exhaled steadily, then groaned in what couldn’t have been entirely pain. As a reward, G’Kar lowered his hands to Londo’s upper back. Even if his kind were not constituted for such pleasures, there was one trick he’d learned that nearly all Centauri appreciated very much. 

“G’Kar, what are you—“ he started, then lapsed into a grateful moan. _There_. Those sweet, sensitive junctions, tucked between the ribs at the base of each brachiarte. G’Kar spread his fingers wider to reach all six on both sides. “Ah...” Londo panted, fogging up the glossy surface of the table. “How did you...“

“Come now, Mollari,” G’Kar chuckled, digging his fingers in deeper. “Is it any wonder that I may have stumbled across a few of your little known intimacies? It was a matter of survival on Narn, you see, to know your oppressors inside and out.” With Londo thoroughly boneless, he started to move, each thrust easier than the last. “Every last weakness and vulnerability laid bare.” 

It was difficult to make a grunt of pleasure sound arrogant, but somehow Londo managed it. “Easier than facing us on the battlefield, hm?”

G’Kar paid him no mind, quickly giving himself over to the act, the heat, the thrum of imminent satisfaction coursing through his limbs. He swung a knee up on the table, flattening Londo beneath him. It didn’t matter how much venom he spewed; G’Kar had him where he wanted him — where he _belonged_ — presenting himself before him, begging for his touch. With gentle insistence, he moved from Londo’s back to inside of his jacket. Desperate now, his brachiarti seemed to follow the path of his caress. G’Kar located the tip of what he thought was Londo’s upper right, tracing its contours from the outside, guiding it up toward the closure of Londo’s waistcoat. He tapped his topmost button. “How much do you want this?”

Londo shut his eyes and puffed out his chest, as if it took every effort to control himself and the raw need that strained against the fabric.

“Look at me, Mollari.”

Londo threw him a glare over his shoulder that was surely intended to be defiant, but the resistance gave way as G’Kar undid the button, then reached under to tug at the laces of his shirt. “G’Kar, I can’t—“

“Not until you tell me what you want,” G’Kar said, enunciating his words very carefully, as though he were speaking to a child. “And you are going to say ‘please’.”

Londo swallowed hard. He held rigid for a moment, resolve simmering just beneath the surface. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping. His grimace transformed into a smile that was almost genuine. He laughed breathlessly, as if the utter absurdity of the situation had descended upon him all at once. “Let me come,” he said, every syllable drawn out, mimicking G’Kar’s patronizing tone. “Please.”

Even dripping with contempt, the words stirred desire. G’Kar’s cock throbbed, nearly enough to push him over the edge. He withdrew a few inches, blinked back impossible fantasies. His control threatening to slip, he returned his attention to Londo, loosening his laces enough to allow one brach to slip through the gap. Londo brought a hand to his chest, where another waited its turn. G’Kar bucked in objection. “Just the one,” he said. 

“What for? Feeling a little intimidated, perhaps?” Londo asked. The single brach snaked up G’Kar’s jaw to flirt with his bottom lip. “I understand all six at once may be a challenge for a Narn, but rest assured, I will help if you lose count. Maker knows, you have always envied our—” Lightly, G’Kar raked his teeth over the flared tip of the organ, silencing him. Then he turned his head away and nudged the brach toward Londo’s mouth instead. 

“Actually, I was hoping you could give me a demonstration. We are, after all, such slow learners,” he said, grinding his hips in languid circles, a pressing reminder that this was far from over. “Show me how _you_ do it.”

Whether it came from enthusiasm or desperation, Londo obeyed without complaint. His opened his mouth, caught the brach with the tip of his tongue. The organ twitched with stimulation, folding gracefully back to reveal the slick underside. Londo dipped his head and picked a place to suck partway down his length, then licked his way back up — all the while gazing at G’Kar, a coy smile on his lips.

Unable to hold back, G’Kar started moving again with smooth, even strokes. He could feel Londo’s effort to relax around him, unwilling to let G’Kar’s pleasure compromise his own. Londo opened his mouth to let the brach land gracefully on his tongue, taking himself deeper than G’Kar would have expected. His lips closed around the shaft. With arousal and fascination, G’Kar felt the lower base of the organ pulse and undulate as Londo expertly worked the sensitive tip. They fell into a rhythm, Londo fellating himself at the pace of G’Kar’s thrusts. Quickened by the arousal of the first, the remaining brachiarti crowded around G’Kar’s hand, thrashing and incessant. G’Kar tended to them as best he could, encouraging their motion, squeezing them through the barrier of clothing. Londo made a high keening noise, rolling his hips against G’Kar in a way that was uncannily human. Awash in sensation, pressure, and the creak of leather against skin, he almost missed Londo’s muffled cry.

Londo turned, the brach sliding out of his mouth. He panted heavily, red in the cheeks, a trail of saliva and cloudy white ejaculate dripping down his chin. “More,” he said. 

The orgasm took him by surprise. G’Kar’s breath hitched, his heartbeat thundering in his temples as the rush took him. He rode out the spasms only to withdraw at the last minute, wiping his cock on Londo’s coattails. He felt Londo hoist himself up after the weight eased from his back. His hands darted straight for the buttons of his waistcoat. G’Kar was faster — vigorous and alert in the afterglow. He lunged for Londo’s shoulders, twisted around, and dragged him into a kiss. 

Blood, sweat, come — the tastes intermingled, and G’Kar meant to kiss him clean. Londo’s lips parted with hungry anticipation, what little restraint the man ever possessed long exhausted. His teeth snagged G’Kar’s bottom lip in what was more thoughtlessness than aggression, hard enough to puncture, but not to wound. He whined when they broke, his eyes half closed. 

“I knew it,” G’Kar muttered, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheek, the flesh that ringed his jaw. 

“What now?” Londo’s head lolled to the side to reveal the pattern of pink marks G’Kar had left on his neck, well on their way to bruises. 

G’Kar pressed his lips to each one and worked his way down. “You want this as much as I do. You just can’t admit it,” he said. “Underneath all this silk and lace, and the trappings of status, you — all of you — are at least as much beast as we are.” G’Kar had banished Londo’s hands so he could undress him as he wished. He peeled away the jacket and the hanging fabric of his scarf. “Only now, your claws have grown dull and brittle with age, while ours have been sharpened to a fine point.”

Londo leaned forward for contact as G’Kar pawed at his waistcoat. “I think you’ll find our claws as sharp as ever, G’Kar, should your pitiful victories ever seriously test our patience,” Londo said, the violence in the words at odds with the passion of his voice. “That we didn’t reduce your world to a smear of pebbles around your sun after we left was an act of charity. A grave error, if you ask me.”

“Is that so?” G’Kar asked, eyes drawn to the layer of pins and medallions across his breast. He lifted one for closer examination. “Tell me, where did you get these?” G’Kar asked, though he already knew the answer — as did anyone else who shared the misfortune of Londo’s company after a few too many drinks. “The Dilgar? The Minbari? What legions last felt the wrath of the mighty Centauri Republic?”

Londo didn’t answer.

“Frallis 12, Quadrant 17, Nefua...” G’Kar listed off, then began unbuttoning Londo’s waistcoat. “That’s right. Your own colonies. Domestic squabbles between your exalted noble families.” He let out a soft giggle. “The slow decline of a once ravenous empire. The way a crippled beast — too weak to kill, too proud to die — begins tearing its own flesh in frustration.” He slipped the last button through its slot, leaving Londo in a thin white shirt. 

“Nonsense,” said Londo. ”What makes you think we are not biding our time, waiting for an opportune moment…ah!” Two of his lower brachiarti emerged from the bottom of his shirt and delivered themselves into G’Kar’s waiting palms. He looked down at the tender organ, gave it a light squeeze and smiled as it curled around his thumb.

“Is that what you tell yourself to avoid facing the truth?” asked G’Kar. “That all it took to shatter your grand destiny was the League worlds banding together against you and a few slaves escaping their chains.” He tightened his grip around both brachiarti and watched Londo sag back against the table. 

Londo bit back a cry, visibly struggling to maintain his composure. “Overconfident, as always. It will be your undoing, I swear, G’Kar—“

“Your devotion would be admirable if it weren’t so misplaced.” G’Kar drew close and followed the length of Londo’s brachiarti all the way up until they joined with his body. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just accept your new place in the galaxy? The way you once taught us.” G’Kar bunched up the fabric of his shirt and urged him towards the table. “Lay on your back for me.”

G’Kar braced himself for another round of scathing backtalk, but it didn’t come. Londo deliberated, his gaze flitting between G’Kar and the brachiarti squirming between their bodies. His blush deepened to stain his neck and shoulders. “You will tell nobody about this?”

“Who would believe me?”

That seemed to reassure him. With an awkward sort of eagerness, he hopped up on the table to make a proper display of himself. G’Kar stood between his legs and tucked a cushioning hand behind his scalp as he eased onto his back. If G’Kar hadn’t already sated himself, the sight alone — Londo Mollari splayed out naked before him like one of his wanton little idols — would have done him in. He was glad for it, if only so he could appreciate him with care, precision, and clarity of purpose. He could see it in his eyes, in his languid movements — a capacity for pleasures unsurpassed, and G’Kar meant to wring from him every last drop.

He turned his attention to the lowermost pair of brachiarti he’d been teasing earlier. Warm and slick, they responded to the slightest pressure. “You were right about one thing, Mollari. I do envy you these,” G’Kar said, turning the brachiarti about in his hands, watching them weave between his fingers. No matter what he thought of their owner, he could hardly find fault with something so elegant and lively. “It’s a wonder how you people get anything done.”

“A testament to Centauri discipline?” Londo suggested, the words slurred with arousal. 

“Greed, more like,” G’Kar said, and pressed his thumb into the brach’s slippery folds. “Admit it, Mollari, there’s no such thing as ‘enough’ for you people, is there?” G’Kar leaned forward to kiss his chest as it rose. He rubbed his cheek against the patch of hair at the centre, enjoying the bristling texture and the scent of his damp skin. “There’s always more wealth, more power, more pleasures to be had...” he muttered, making his way down the smooth slope of his belly, his lips caressing every inch. “You’re insatiable.”

As if on cue, Londo’s neglected brachiarti extended to encircle G’Kar’s wrists. He adjusted his grip to clasp all four at once, squeezing hard to send Londo into blissful raptures. “Just as I thought...” G’Kar mused. He raised one to his lips to lap up the fluid rolling down the shaft. “You’re already so close, Mollari. How long has it been since somebody’s touched you?”

Londo shuddered and arched his back, leaving a moist outline on the wood. One hand knotted in the folds of his shirt, the other scrabbled for purchase on the table. G’Kar readjusted himself, easing one of Londo’s legs up over his shoulder for balance, then nuzzled his inner thigh. 

“Was it your pretty dancer?” G’Kar leaned in to whisper in Londo’s ear, biting it to make sure he was listening. “Whatever happened to her, I wonder. Did she know you could beg so nicely?”

Londo’s hands were on him as soon as G’Kar was in reach, clawing at the wall of his armour. “Bastard,” he hissed, followed by an impressive litany of Centauri curses. Rage flared in his eyes, intermingled with lust. “That’s... that’s rich, G’Kar,” he managed, his voice wavering between groans and urgent gasps. “Coming from you of all people...” 

“Oh?” G’Kar licked his lips in anticipation. 

“Your reputation,” he answered simply. “Is there any species on this station you have not taken to your bed?” he asked, then pressed a string of vicious kisses down G’Kar’s throat. “Humans... Drazi... ha! Great Maker, you would not hesitate to spill your seed inside a filthy pak’ma’ra if it were a choice between it and one of your own kind.” 

G’Kar froze in place, hanging on his every word. A tremor of unease ran down his spine. His hands curled into fists around the slithering organs, though a part of him now wanted to let go. Londo didn’t let him — soft arms flung around his back and locked him in a cruel embrace. 

“Do you hate yourself that much, G’Kar?” Londo whispered against his mouth, then drew him in for a kiss. 

His lips were wet and cloying, his tongue relentless, flooding his mouth until G’Kar could scarcely draw breath. G’Kar’s desire flicked out like a snuffed candle, leaving only revulsion in its place. He tried to pull away, but Londo dragged him down with hands that raked down his back and the leg hooked round his shoulders — so close he could feel his muscles tense and release over and over again. The brachiarti coiled in his grasp, liquid pooling in his palms, flowing through his knuckles. 

Slowly, he relaxed his grip. Londo sunk back against the table in a pitiful heap. G’Kar tilted his head up, sucked down a long breath of stale air and peered around the room. The familiar surroundings centred him somewhat; he felt a measure of control return. Feeling very naked all of a sudden, G’Kar eyed his gloves hanging over the side of the table, about to reach for them before he remembered—

A smaller, cleaner pair of hands enveloped his own. “Let me,” Londo said in a hazy exhale, and guided G’Kar’s fingers toward his mouth.

“Shut up!” G’Kar flinched, wrenched his hands away, and in a fit of spite, wiped the bulk of the mess along Londo’s sleeves.

Londo gave a brief scowl of distaste. “As you wish,” he said, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Stubborn creature,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard that, Mollari,” G’Kar shot back, his old instincts reasserting themselves now that he’d put some distance between the two of them. To Londo’s credit, he glanced down and self-consciously tugged down his crumpled shirt to cover himself. 

He felt Londo’s gaze at his back as he snapped his gauntlets into place, following his every movement with a look that almost approached concern. Somehow, that was even worse than the laughter. “What? Must I send for your aide to help you dress?” 

“No! I...” Londo looked down, his brows furrowed. How small he looked, perched at the edge of the table, stripped of his layers of finery, boots barely grazing the floor. _Indecent_ was the word that crossed G’Kar’s mind at the sight. He retrieved Londo’s jacket and took a tentative step forward.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?” G’Kar tossed the jacket in Londo’s direction. 

“2133,” Londo spoke at last. 

G’Kar blinked, unsure of what to make of that. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“The date of our victory against the Orieni at the Battle of Murkara. Led by Admiral Valtimo under the reign of Emperor Ludo VII,” Londo recited from memory, though lacking the accompanying pride. He clutched the folds of his jacket gathered in his lap. “It is also the passcode to my quarters, in case you...” he trailed off, his resolve fading the longer he held G’Kar’s gaze. 

In case he suffered another round of humiliation at the hands of the council. In case he craved a willing body to rut against. In case he needed to assuage a sudden bout of self-loathing and lose himself in Centauri flesh. G’Kar could think of a number of ways to finish his sentence, but he refused to give Londo the satisfaction. 

G’Kar lowered himself between Londo’s outstretched thighs, drinking in the scent of sex that clung to his clothes. “It appears that I was right, Mollari. It has _certainly_ been a long time for you.” He cupped a hand to Londo’s cheek, and how easily he succumbed to the gesture, nestling into his palm. A lock of hair had come loose from his crest to fall behind his ear. G’Kar plucked at the escaped strands and twirled them around his finger. “But I promise...“

He gave a sharp tug, pulling him forward by the hair and into his arms. 

“If I come, it will be to harvest your teeth for a necklace,” he said, and claimed his lips again.

**Author's Note:**

> Aspects of this fic were inspired by tidbits from the B5 Tabletop RPG sourcebooks, particularly those relating to G'Kar's bungled negotiation of the Roth III situation, as well as the creative uses of Centauri body parts. Their quality is variable, but if you're interested in EU-type stuff and a veritable goldmine of pseudo-canon worldbuilding, I highly recommend getting your hands on them.
> 
> (Edit: This fic is now illustrated! NSFW obviously: http://haldora.tumblr.com/post/152335207249)


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